


This Life of ours Always (always always) has to Hurt

by HoneyBeeBritt



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: A plant is harmed in this, Alternate Scene, Angst, Crowley Whump (Good Omens), M/M, after the fire, and he’s very sorry, but Crowley heals it, crowley and his plants, implied happy ending?, well it leads into the rest of the series which is happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-31 00:55:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21027146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoneyBeeBritt/pseuds/HoneyBeeBritt
Summary: An alternate scene.Aziraphale finds Crowley in his apartment, not the pub, after diving back down to earth.Everything was dark, until it wasn’t, and Aziraphale felt as if he was floating in an eternal endless abyss, before he opened his eyes, and was met with the sight of Crowley’s apartment. The Angel was ready to simply sigh in relief, he had found his very way exactly to where he wanted to be.Amidst the wreck of the demon’s things, and the puddle of holy water in the doorway, he was never more glad to hear Crowley’s scream of anguish, if only it meant he was truly alive.





	This Life of ours Always (always always) has to Hurt

**Author's Note:**

> I can’t believe whumptober defeated me, on the first bloody _prompt_.
> 
> It was trembling hands, and I filled the prompt on my twitter (honey_bee_britt, come and say hi!)
> 
> I have many many Crowley feelings, and Aziraphale feelings, and they are way too broad and encompassing to speak all about them right now, so come and make me hurt like this is going to make you hurt ahaha
> 
> Implied happy ending because for once the Gods (Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett), gave us a happy ending, and this leads into those events.
> 
> Not beta’d, we post like men.

Aziraphale wasn’t exactly sure where his angelic spirit had ended up. It had been a rash decision for sure; impulsive; he needed a body, and he had thrown himself down to earth without even an inkling as to where he was going. 

Was his faith really that strong? 

His faith in his God?

In the divine power of her miracles? 

No. It wasn’t his faith in  _ her _ , it wasn’t that at all.

It was his faith in his demon, his Crowley. A desperate want that the Angel of Heaven held deep inside himself, the one being that Aziraphale wanted so very badly to see, even though he was indeed absolutely sure that Crowley wouldn’t want to see the sight of him.

Oh, how  _ cruel _ he had been. The grip that Heaven had on the leash of his insecurities had just been too strong; it was a choke collar; making him gasp words of denial into the face of his very dear friend, who just wanted to  ** _save_ ** him, to save  ** _them_ ** ; who wanted them to run away together; who wanted to try and protect him for as long as he possibly could, from the impending violence and doom that crept to their door. 

It was selfish, yes, to let the rest of the world turn to ash and to escape with their lives, but, really, with what Aziraphale knew now, with what he had been too blind to see, the fact there was no escaping the onslaught of the forces of heaven and hell, Crowley was just trying to keep him safe.

And now his love would never forgive him.

He didn’t know what was worse.

* * *

This.  _ This _ was worse.

Everything was dark, until it wasn’t, and Aziraphale felt as if he was floating in an eternal endless abyss, before he opened his eyes, and was met with the sight of Crowley’s apartment. The Angel was ready to simply sigh in relief, he had found his very way exactly to where he wanted to be.

But then he saw the wreckage around him; an overturned desk, a broken throne, the smashed glass and shards from the television set hanging by the wires from the wall, pages and pages of star maps scattered everywhere; and then the awful sight of that putrid mess in the doorway.

He knew what the remains were straight away, he more  _ sensed _ the engulfing scent of sulfur and extinguished evil in the air that simply  _ smelled _ it, and deep down Aziraphale knew that that couldn’t be Crowley in a puddle on the floor.

Although he was never more glad to hear Crowley’s scream of anguish, if only it meant he was truly alive.

He spun around, and simply started to tremble at the sight. His dear was a shadow of his former self, covered in soot and ash, his hair hanging stringy and wet as he stood with his back to Aziraphale. He could clearly see how he was heaving, even with no need to breathe, and he seemed to curl in on himself as he sobbed.

_ ‘What ever happened to you, my darling?’ _

“Angel- Angel, I was supposed to save you. That’s what I do. It’s what I’m meant to do. It’s our thing, and I can’t even get that  **right** !” 

Aziraphale jumped despite himself as Crowley punctuated the sentence with throwing an empty pot against the wall, and when his hands fell back to his sides, he could see blood on his hands.

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale took a step forward towards him, “Oh my dear, I was only discorporated, I’m alright, it was my own fault, I-”

But it was like Crowley couldn’t hear him.

He was so lost in his grief.

“I failed him. I failed my Angel. Couldn’t save him from the hellfire. Chased him away. I went too fast. I scared him. I disappointed him… are you all disappointed in me too?”

“Hellfire? Crowley? Whatever happened?”

Aziraphale didn’t receive an answer, and he watched Crowley stalk into his greenhouse of a side room, such an ominous cold feeling following in his wake. As if they knew they were being addressed, the plants started to twitch and shake; and the stench of  _ fear _ and  _ regret _ threatened to overwhelm the Angel even in his spirit of a form. 

But it wasn’t coming from the conservatory, not at all. 

It was coming from  _ Crowley _ .

“You think I’m a monster. That all I do is scream and terrorise and hurt and you’re  **right** , I’m not  _ nice _ . I’m not kind. And I never deserved someone as much of a  ** _good_ ** bastard as Aziraphale.” Crowley hissed his name like he was trying to escape the heat of the brand it made on his tongue, and the Angel could barely make a sound as Crowley took a step further into the room, his fingers reaching out to stroke around the ceramic of a nearby pot. It was a young sprout, not a seedling, but still new, one that Aziraphale could have guessed he had propagated himself. He took it in his hands, cradling it, and the Angel could see that it wasn’t trembling like the others. It was too  _ young _ , and Aziraphale could sense the little bead of love it held inside itself for the one who grew it.

“Crowley-  _ Crowley _ , what are you-“

The hate seemed to build up inside of himself, grew and grew as the Demon rolled the pot between his hands, until it completely extinguished the faint glow of love that he saw inside Crowley, “Death is coming... It would be kinder for me to put you out of your misery.”

And before Aziraphale could scream for Crowley to stop, he threw the seedling against the back wall.

It exploded in a cloud of pottery shards and dirt, and the demon was visibly panting, like the simple act had sucked all the air from his lungs. The sprout lay broken amidst the dirt, and all was silent except for the rustling of the leaves in fear, and the sound of Aziraphale whining softly at the act, hands covering his mouth in horror, “Oh,  _ Crowley _ .”

The sound that burst from the demon’s lips was heartbreaking, a pained sob, and then another, and he fell to his knees, sobbing  _ no no no _ , over and over again, crawling on hands and knees through the dirt and the pottery, smears of blood on the stone floor, a stream of apologies and cries as he miracled a new pot filled with dirt into his hands.

“I’m sorry- I’m  ** _sorry_ ** \- I didn’t mean to- I didn’t- didn’t want to- I’m a  _ monster _ , I couldn’t even save him, I couldn’t even save you.” His hands trembled as he gathered the little sprout into his hands, shaking so badly that he must have only kept a hold of it by force of will. The same hands pressed the broken little plant into the dirt, holding snapped joints and fixing them with miracles from his fingertips; the Angel could see the glow of love come full force inside of him, flowing from his chest, down his arms and into his fingers as he repaired the sapling, his whole form shaking just as much as his hands did, before he crawled again to slide the pot into a space on the shelves, tucked between two much larger ones, as if to protect it from himself.

Aziraphale seemed to tremble along with Crowley and he rushed forward to help him, sobbing out his grief as he witnessed his love struggle to his knees, to his feet, before losing his grip on the shelf he was holding and collapsing to the floor, and he could do  _ nothing _ .

He passed right through Aziraphale’s open arms as he fell, and crawled straight through his feet as the Angel tried to round his side, trying in vain to hold him up, and cursing her name when he couldn’t. Was this his punishment? For going against her plan? To watch the love of his life fall apart in front of his eyes while he had to just sit by and do nothing? Could not give him a single moment of relief and comfort? 

He watched as Crowley crawled to the wall, amidst the dirt and broken pottery and just  ** _sob_ ** , sob as if his very heart threatened to escape from between his lips, and he finally found a place to rest as he curled his knees to his chest, and pressed trembling hands to his mouth; as if the very act would keep the grief from spilling from his lips.

It was too much, too much for the Angel as he fell to his knees in front of his love. So close, galaxies apart even though they were in the same room. And he  _ wished _ with all his might, willed it so, not so much as prayed to her, but  _ demanded _ , and he cupped Crowley’s cheek as best he could, shimmering fingertips imagining the cool touch of his demon’s cheek against his palm. Wishing he could brush away the tears against his skin, warm him with the strength of his love, wished at the very least his tears would taste of happiness instead of despair.

His voice was barely a whisper, and he all but breathed Crowley’s name, “I’m here, my dear,  _ oh _ , I’m  ** _here_ ** .”

And Crowley raised his head.

“... Aziraphale?”


End file.
